Firkin was in the practice yard going through a set of exercises his sadistic Captain had assigned him. He was too old to be learning new things, but according to the dragon, Firkin had gotten too complacent. Complacent, hah! He'd like to see the Captain be a spy from another country pretending to be a loyal and dedicated guard, work at tearing down a country from the inside, go hunting a Black mage, and only pretend to hunt for the one person he knew for certain wasn't a traitor. He didn't have time to become complacent.

He stifled a groan as his muscles stopped twinging a few minutes into the drill and he actually got warmed up. It was true that his body complained more in the mornings than it had when he was younger. Maybe the new routines would help with that. Still, while the others were there, he kept to the stolid unimaginative stuff that characterized him, pretending to be dogged about following the new patterns. He couldn't afford to slip up even a little. He could hardly be the only spy here.

He stayed in the practice arena long after everyone was gone, as was his habit. Once he cast an illusion spell to show an empty arena, he really started getting into the new routine. This one used knives instead of his usual single sword, and the previous exercises had made him want to really test them out. He started slow, learning the exact position of each move and how his muscles felt to do the moves. His feet slid to just the perfect position to counterbalance the movements of his arms and knives. The knives themselves felt utterly natural, more so than he'd expected.

Firkin slowly started adding in the extras he'd trained himself in, the stuff that didn't fit his stolid and unimaginative front. This was the only thing he ever did entirely for himself. The knives fell perfectly in with the fancy moves and steps, and he sped the drill up. Minutes, or possibly even hours, later he finally went through steps to cool down. He realized he was grinning from ear to ear, and wished that there was someone there to share the joy of a perfect drill. He'd have to remember to thank the Captain for suggesting he work with the Isen blades. They were more short swords than knives, but he loved how well they suited him.

He absentmindedly dismissed the illusion spell as he left for the showers. He was already mulling over the results of his hunt. He quickly showered and changed, grateful for the anonymous fire mages that had made the hot showers possible, and headed back to his room.

Sylvie couldn't possibly know it, but he'd been hunting the real Traitor these past five years. He'd been on the hunt much longer than when the chit had managed to smuggle that letter into his bedroom and leave it the center of his bed. His lips quirked in a grin.

She'd managed to arrange the letter to be delivered in the arms of a stuffed teddy bear. The bear's facial features had a marked resemblance to Firkin. He'd managed to hide the letter before the Captain came in on an inspection that morning, but there was no hiding that 3 foot stuffed creature anywhere. The Captain had accepted his excuse that it was a gift from a friend, but the monstrosity now graced the central fireplace of the dining room and bore the name 'Furkin'. It would be months before he stopped being teased about his “fur twin”.

Be that as it may, he was no closer to capturing the Black mage than he had been five years ago. Hell, it had to be somebody damn near invisible if Sylvie hadn't found the Black mage via her own efforts and meddling. He tallied up the clues in his mind again.

Point one. Whoever it was had been working in and around the Capital city of Vanihan a long time. The Darkening Curse that ended Sylvie's career with the Golden Guard was far from the first instance that had that particular personality of Dark magic. His private research into the private archives of the Golden Guard showed instances that could only have been pulled off by Dark magic.

Point two. The Dark mage in question had to be highly placed in court. It was the only way some of the more complex pieces of magic monstrosity could be pulled off. Unfortunately, the King had a habit of appropriating brilliant and clever thinkers from every walk of life. Firkin personally knew two ex-tailors, a still practicing blacksmith, and an ex-barmaid that had become part of the Royal Advisers with rank and attendant housing in the castle to match.

Point three. Whoever it was had to be accepted anywhere and everywhere. They had to blend even better than Firkin did as a Golden Guard. If it weren't for the Black magic, Firkin would admire the son of a...a... well fuck, he didn't want insult the dogs of the kingdom. Either which way, the person was pure magic at what they could do and how they could do it.

Point four. Firkin was at a dead end. He'd read, researched, evaluated every bit of information he could about the Dark mage. It was like trying to catch a ghost spider. Ghost spiders were mage-made creatures that had adaptive camouflage. They could grow to the size of a man's open hand, and move faster than anything. If someone blinked at the wrong time, they would be missing chunks of flesh and dying from the poison in the bites. It was the Golden Guard's responsibility to eradicate the bastards wherever they were found, but catching one was more a matter of luck than anything else.

Point five. Sylvie would be back, and soon. She would be expecting more that guesses and suppositions. Hell, he expected more of himself. It was almost as if someone knew what he really did in the Golden Guard and designed things to block him. He paled at the thought. The list of people who knew he was the Mage Hunter was very very small.

There was Mage-King Jaralt of Gamriel, King Novan of Vanihan, Prince Alex, Lord Hillyard the teacher of the Tower School, the previous Captain of the Golden Guard Count Willems De Forency, current Captain of the Golden Guard Dragon Lord Guialt, Quinton, Harken, obviously Sylvie, and the mage healers.

Mage-King Jaralt was too far away to be directing the the perfection of the Dark mage, and Firkin had lived and worked with the rest of the people on his short list. Each of them had been true heroes and heroines at one point or another. Each of them had incredible feats of bravery and stories and songs sung about them all the time. None of them had so much as a whiff of Black magic to them.

He nearly waved a hand in dismissal at the mere thought that any of them could be a Traitor. However, Firkin knew that he had just as distinguished, if not as lauded, deeds behind himself. He was a spy. How much more difficult would it be to hide being a Dark mage?

He sat down in his office chair with a bitten off curse. Then, he sighed. He already knew it wasn't Sylvie. Quinton and Harken would be more likely to dance naked on the front lines than become Dark mages. King Novan had no motive for turning his country into a charnel house. That left four very different men.

Prince Alex was the prankster of the crowd. He would set up buckets of confetti in strategically embarrassing liaison spots, put disappearing ink in guest inkwells, and more. If there was somebody at court that hadn't been pranked by Prince Alex by now, that person was incredibly lucky. That being said, the Prince was absolutely serious in his fighting and spell-casting. It was difficult to think of him being a Dark mage, but he did have the talent, the opportunity, and the ability to pull it off.

Lord Hillyard was the strongest mage in the country. He had written over 100 books on magic and the various specialties, including the rarer abilities such as Ice, Firkin's own Shadow Magic, and almost countless others. It was said that what he didn't know about magic wasn't worth knowing. Lord Hillyard certainly had the knowledge and the ability to pull off any of the Dark magic he so desired. Firkin had a hard time swallowing the idea. The man was almost pathologically loyal to King Novan and Vanihan. Still, a Dark mage's thinking was twisted. A twisted mind could see the Dark magic spells that had been going on as strengthening the Kingdom.

The previous Captain of the Golden Guard Count Willems De Forency was still at court as an Adviser to the King. He had access to the Golden Guard, to the archives, and the rest of the court. It would have been easy for him to have climbed the ranks of the Golden Guard and court with Dark magic in play. Still, the man had been a Captain. He'd had the means and opportunity to do so much worse than the Darkening curse many times over. It didn't really make sense that he'd wait and hold back so much if he was the Dark mage.

Lastly, the current Captain of the Golden Guard. Dragon Lord Guialt had many of the same opportunities as Count Willems De Forency. Was it possible he was avenging the deaths of a rogue dragon or two? He also had the means and power to pull off Dark magic under the noses of every powerful mage here in the capitol. He'd have had to be very young when he pulled off the first piece of Dark magic. Firkin hoped it wasn't Guialt. Dragons were a bitch to take down.

Firkin sat until the we hours of the morning, turning each of the four possibilities over in his head. How could any of them be Dark mages? How could any of them not be? For each argument that could be made for them being Dark mages, Firkin could find a reason for them not to be. When dawn peeked through his window slats, he sighed and went to the dining hall for breakfast.

After eating a filling breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and juice he went to Captain Guialt and asked for special leave for an indefinite Hunt. In dragon form today, Captain Guialt eyed him sideways before giving him permission.

Firkin decided to throw a bit of bait and see what happened. “I guarantee, Captain, that at the end of my Hunt Sylvie Goldenbough will be before the King.”

The dragon looked at him piercingly and nodded. “Very well. If you succeed at that, Lieutenant Firkin, I will make you a Sergeant.”

Firkin saluted the Captain. “Thank you, Sir. I won't let you down.”

He left the Captain's quarters, went to his own, and grabbed his already packed satchel. With quick and careful steps, he made his way out of the castle and through the city. He had to hunt..ahem look into...four very powerful men. A feral grin hovered at his lips as he slipped through the gates in the shadow of a merchant caravan. The guard didn't even notice him pass.